


The Gates of Hell Swing Open to the Lightest Touch

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Crimes & Criminals, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t discuss it.  Before long, though, it’s hard to ignore the fact their arrangement is becoming <i>a bit of a regular thing.</i></p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>The Finer Art of Dying</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessor.</p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as does <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1223959/chapters/2507548">Consequences</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Familiar can be good, and it can also hurt like hell.

"Boss thinks we can put you back on the market pretty soon," Algrim says, tone conversational, as though they’re just talking about- about the movies. Sports. Anything but _pimping out everything that is Loki._ "As long as you keep your shirt on, you shouldn't scare away the paying customers." He takes Loki's arm by the wrist, his touch clinical rather than erotic, and moves the shoulder through its full range of motion. "Much better," he offers cheerfully as Loki flinches and winces. "I honestly didn't think you would ever get to this point. Not when they brought you in that night, for sure."

"You were there?" Loki has been able to scrape together some of what happened, from little flashes of memory and scraps of information – the kind he’s gathered listening to Dr. Creepy talk to Malekith over top of his head while he’s been down paying his medical bills on his knees, for example - but he has no memory of that day whatsoever. He's even heard his brother was there when he was shot, which makes no sense at all, but Loki ultimately has no idea how to sort out what he should and shouldn’t believe; he literally remembers nothing.

 _Retrograde amnesia,_ the Bad Doctor calls it, _and antegrade._

That latter bit explains the rest; why Loki didn't come up out of the murky sea (of blood and drugs and pain) to stay until a couple of weeks had passed.

"-was," Algrim is saying, and Loki makes himself focus. Letting his mind wander here, in this place, with this man, is very dangerous. "You looked like so much hamburger,” Algrim goes on. “I thought you were dead."

"And did that make you sad?" Loki tries to laugh but coughs, and that _hurts_. He can't even remember what it feels like to breathe and to move without pain. "Would you have missed me," he kids the big enforcer, because they aren't _friends_ but they're _something_.

Algrim laughs. "I'd say I was expecting to mourn the loss of your _earning potential_ ,” he teases back, “but you're into the merchandise so often I swear you're a net loss most of the time.” He gives Loki a push towards the weight bench. "Finish your exercises. You're no use to anyone with only partial function in that hand."

~

They keep him inside at first, carefully filtering and screening his _clients_. No one too big, or too rough, or too toppy. No one they want him to rob or scam.

No one who's going to tear off Loki’s clothes and run screaming into the night - without remembering to stop and pay up first, at least – after a tiny glimpse of the horror show that is his angry red exit wound scar.

No one who's going to spot the revolting mess and grin and _want to go for blood_.

~

Before (not nearly fucking) long (enough), though, he's right back out there on the street with the rest of Malekith's show ponies.

~

"How do I look," Loki asks the two bouncers - Algrim has _pressing matters_ elsewhere this evening, but both of these guys are part of the big, happy family, too - as he walks (okay, sure, _prances_ , because he _is_ prancing and he full well knows it) past the open doors of the club. The one with the dance floor above the bar; the one that serves as a front for, well, all this other shit they have going on out here.

"Give it a spin for me," the bigger guy suggests, gesturing _turn around_. Loki does as requested, stopping with knees together and clunky platform mary janes splayed and head fallen to one side like the world's largest broken doll. The largest broken doll tricked out all _Japanese schoolgirl,_ anyways.

"Mmm," the other guard purrs. "Bring it here, cutie."

"Ah-ah... don't shit where you eat," Loki admonishes, shaking his finger and smirking and trotting out his best _Algrim_ accent. " _Never_ shit where you eat."

They all share a laugh, and maybe it isn't so bad to be back on the strip after all.

Especially after Loki mock-stumbles and one of the bouncers reaches out a hand to catch him.... and palms him _a little something to take the edge off_.

"Be good, boys," Loki tells the two of them, winking. He blows a kiss with dark-red-slicked lips and heads on down the street to his assigned territory near the fifth light pole.

~

Not twenty gum-snapping, hair-twirling minutes later he hears it: "Hey, Odinson. _Loki!_." He looks up, slowly, (pretending to take his sweet time) checking out the racy little sportscar just a shade darker than his slate gray fingernails (but actually struggling more than just a little to regain his composure).

"Just Loki, here." He pouts. "Laufeyson if you simply can't let it go at that." He pushes off the concrete pole base and takes a couple of cautious steps towards the car. "Hi, Fandral," he says quietly, taking a long look up and then down the street. One can never be too careful, after all; not here. _Especially_ not here. Despite his best intentions, Loki’s heart leaps into his dry, dry mouth. "Uh, did Thor-."

"Thor? Yeah, right," Fandral says, cutting him off mid-thought. Before Loki can even react Fandral snorts, curt and dismissive. "Don’t even. He gave up on you long, long ago, princess."

That- that fucking _hurts_. Like a punch right in the gut. Like dying. Loki all but staggers back a step, barely catching himself. Whatever the guys gave him has made his body kind of detached, kind of slow. Even so, he sways more than a little.

Fandral doesn’t seem to notice. Thank god.

Loki can't process what he just heard, not here or now, and he can't deal with Fandral any longer. "Nice to see you," he offers, with carefully faked casualness, adding "looking good," as he gestures with one elbow at the fancy, fancy little car. "But I'm afraid I'm not allowed to hang around chatting while I'm working...," he explains, as politely as he can, and then he turns to go.

He _has_ to go.

Because even with a little chemical help, it takes everything he has not to break down and run.

Loki doesn't make it even half a step before Fandral shoots out a hand and catches him by the wrist. "Funny you should mention that, isn’t it?” Fandral smiles, looking far, far too much like the cat that’s just caught the canary. “So, tell me, bambi; what's the price of a ride, for an _old friend?_

 _Jesus fuck_.

He wants to rip his arm free and scream.

Business is business, though. Loki’s still well within sight of the bouncers, who can’t possibly have failed to notice such a _rich boy_ car. So he doesn’t run, and he doesn’t scream; he stays right where he is and quotes a fair price.

~

In the end, when Fandral has made sure to get every bit of his money’s worth, he pays Loki double that.

~

Flopped in bed late that night, hair still wet from the shower and head throbbing, Loki can’t help noticing how _double the price_ helps (buy something that all but completely) takes away the awful sting of having been left here to rot by his _beloved brother_ like so much fucking garbage.

Just one more of _those_ pills – the oblong ones, from the box in Algrim’s desk – and Loki can almost forget he’s been _given up on long ago._

~

The hot little car shows up again a few days later.

And again, and again.

They don’t discuss it. Before long, though, it’s hard to ignore the fact their arrangement is becoming _a bit of a regular thing._

~

Fandral has some kinks Loki could just as well live without. The guy turns out to be annoyingly into humiliation, often making him grovel and crawl and beg and sometimes even piss himself (seriously, it takes quite a bit to embarrass Loki these days, but that’s one thing that fucking does it; he quickly comes to despise _drink this down and I’ll see you back here in half an hour_ with a burning passion he’d honestly thought he’d long since lost the ability to conjure.

Still, there’s no denying Fandral pays well. He’s also clean, tolerably skillful, and – by comparison to most Johns, at least - downright gentle.

Loki can’t deny that it’s a relief, after a fashion, to get a break from picking pockets and nursing wounds. And from getting fucked, badly, by overgrown boys who wouldn’t know what to do if his ass came neatly tattooed with instructions.

And it’s a relief by _any_ standard to once again be able to afford a hit whenever he needs one.

~

It isn’t for over a month that Fandral starts demanding that Loki call him _Thor_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the wrong light it's hard to distinguish up from down.

He's not supposed to be smoking on the job - it dissuades potential customers, the big boss maintains… which is both true and the whole point - but Algrim's the one overseeing the action tonight. Algrim undoubtedly knows he is beyond beat up (and beat down) just now; thus, Loki is reasonably certain he can break this one small rule and get away with it.

He lights the thing with shaking hands and takes a long drag, grinding the match out under the impossibly high heel of one shoe. Between the start of withdrawal and this afternoon's punch in the mouth, he’s feeling almost too shitty to even care that his feet are fucking killing him.

Almost.

Too shitty for certain, though, to deal with Fandral. Earlier, at the very first glimpse of _his steadiest customer’s car_ , Loki had bolted (or what passes for bolting, in this idiotic excuse for footwear) into the narrow alley between the club and the pawnshop under guise of having to puke (and when, about five steps in, the _smell_ hit him that part stopped being a lie anyway). He's reasonably certain Algrim missed neither his hasty retreat nor the true cause thereof – bottom line; there's very little the guy misses - but Fandral evidently hadn’t spotted him. Either way, no harm seems to have come of it so far.

~

Loki looks about as bad as he feels; that he knows. As long as Fandral doesn't circle back by - and, with each passing minute, the odds of that happening stretch longer and longer - he may actually succeed in spending most of the evening _right here._

Alone.

Except that particular success won't earn him the means by which to land himself another fix. Which, yeah, is a problem.

_Damn it all to hell_.

Okay, plan B: Single out a pedestrian. A quick blowjob in the alley followed up by a little pocket-picking action on the way back out should set things right. All with the bare minimum amount of fuss and effort expended.

That’s pretty much as good as it gets, these days.

~

He's so, so fucking tired. Loki lets his head – eyes shut, lips parted - smack back against the light pole with a dull clonk. Okay, no, that's worse; the light feels like it's burning his brain, even through closed lids. In the end he gives up and slumps gracelessly against the pole, head lolling forward, hair everywhere.

Every now and then he even remembers to take another drag… and does so, somehow without lighting himself on fire. In between, his brain just idles.

~

There’s absolutely no way he would have guessed it but, apparently, his body is a little - a lot; a _whole_ lot - more _wound up_ than his brain. It's the only reasonable explanation for why he jumps a solid foot away from the relative safety (one less side to defend) of the pole when something touches his arm.

And then he’s caught from behind in a crushing bear hug, arms trapped useless against his sides, and there's a sweaty hand _that smells like Fandral_ over his mouth, and he's kicking and thrashing and biting and trying to scream and _where the fuck is Algrim?!_ and-.

In a sick parody of dancing the bunch of them stagger around, tracing a clumsy half-circle until they're almost facing the club, panting and sweating. There's a face near his ear, rough stubble catching his hair. "Hey. Loki! Calm down. It's just me."

Holy shit.

_Thor_. It's _Thor_.

_Oh my fucking god._

Before Loki's body can catch up to his brain, the hand over his mouth pulls free. Its owner sucks in a sharp gasp and steps quickly away. "I was just he-," the guy - and it _is_ Fandral, and for once he sounds fucking terrified – starts off, voice wobbly.

The sharp click of a safety releasing stops him cold.

Thor's arms, if anything, tighten down harder; Loki knows it’s not the smartest choice, even now, but he can’t help but continue to flail. He is _so_ not dying here on this shitty block; not without a struggle, not this time.

~

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you take your hands off my property," Algrim says in his cheerful _excellent customer service_ voice. And just like that Loki's body gives up entirely; he sags limp and shaking against his brother's front, barely even able to keep breathing.

"He's my brother, asshole," Thor snarls, "not your property. And, regardless of what you may be _stuck insisting,_ he’s coming with me."

"I can't let that happen, Odinson." Algrim sets Thor straight, tone markedly less friendly now. Loki shuts his eyes and tries to twist his head into his brother’s hair; he can't look at the gun. "He owes the boss a lot of money," Algrim explains, as if that's somehow going to make a difference.

Thor, of course, simply cannot be stopped by a little thing like money. "Well, considering you seem to know who I am," he points out, nastily, "I suspect you also know I can fix that particular problem."

_Ah. Yes. Loki can now be purchased in the bulk foods section, with the other nuts and the cheap meat._

~

Staggering up the stairs in these shoes, forced along at a brisk pace well beyond what he’s reasonably able to handle, _hurts_. Badly. Loki almost wishes Algrim _had_ let Thor carry him.

~

A lot happens, fast. And it’s not a big room; even dumped in the corner like so much dirty laundry, Loki has what amounts to a ringside seat. Watching Algrim roughly handcuff a crying Fandral from mere inches away is almost worth- worth everything.

Except for how Loki's teeth are chattering and he _needs_ a hit and he needs everyone to _fucking leave_ so he can find a way to get one.

No such luck. "I should kill you both, you know," Malekith tells Thor, in _that_ tone, the one that says he can stand here all night if he fucking has to. "And your idiot friend here,” he adds, nodding towards Fandral. "It would be simpler. Cleaner."

_Not to mention faster_ , Loki thinks, and then feels _almost_ guilty. Almost. Briefly.

His brother, thank god for small favors, skips the bullshit and cuts right to the chase. "How much cash will it take to change your mind?"

~

Watching Thor count out the money, Loki's truly not sure which surprises him more: that he's worth twenty grand to anyone, or that his idiotic brother walked in here – seriously, here, of all places - with that much cash in his fucking pocket.

~

The big boss kisses – really kisses - Loki goodbye. Tongue and everything, in no hurry.

He’s- he’s shocked. It’s the first time the guy has ever touched him in any way that isn't strictly (conventionally, even) professional. Of course his brother doesn’t have the benefit of that sort of perspective... and Malekith's condescending "Be good, pet" probably doesn't help matters either. For an uncomfortably long moment it's far too close to call; Loki really, really thinks Thor is going to blow a gasket.

And then they will all die here, for nothing.

Somehow, though, his brother finds a way not to.

Loki's miracles are all used up now, for the next five years.

~

Everything in Thor's world is- new. This nice car. This - a few minutes and some painful walking later, true, but Loki is rattled and wiped out and not thinking at all clearly - nice apartment, all dark wood and mood lighting and fancy appliances. Even _Thor_ is new: The frown lines. The brooding silence. The _gun_ , the one he leaves Loki standing in the kitchen in order to lock away _the split second the door closes._

When Thor returns, moments that feel like days later, Loki is hovering near the kitchen sink trying to decide whether not he's going to hurl. He settles on _not._

His brother motions for him to follow; Loki does. No questions.

Wow. It's a pretty place. Or it would be, he figures, if he could find the wherewithal to focus. Just now it’s too much to take in. Instead, Loki concentrates as best he can on staying upright. He wobbles along behind his brother, carefully trying not to touch the walls. Not to stumble and mar the flooring with his ridiculous shoes.

At the end of the hallway, Thor spins to face him. "Get out of those clothes and wash up," he orders as Loki sways just inside the bedroom door.

It’s a reasonable request and he should, he knows - he must stink to high heaven again by now, what with everything, and he looks every bit like the cheapest call girl imaginable.

He even _wants_ to obey, but he- he can't somehow. Instead, stupidly, Loki throws himself at his brother; arms flung around Thor's neck, face buried in the angle of his brother's big, muscled shoulder. All he knows is, he doesn’t want to be alone.

~

What happens next may or may not be new. Either way, it's predictable: Thor lays waste to Loki's clothes. After that, it's all depressingly familiar; the same shit he deals with every day: on the bed, face first, arms pinned, legs kicked roughly apart, stupid shoes still on. Loki handles the situation the way he always does, the only way he knows how... he checks out. Goes to the blank grey _nothing_ deep in his own head that subs in for a _Happy Place_ , and floats there.

He lies still, limp and empty and thinking about pretty much nothing, as Thor fucks into him so hard the bed frame slams against the wall.

It's no worse than anything else. It will be over soon, and then maybe - just maybe, if coming off the shit doesn't send him into seizures again this time - he can get some fucking sleep.

~

He's jarred abruptly back out of _nothingness_ by a hot stab of pain - right in the bad shoulder, too - that catches him unsuspecting and leaves him not quite able to squelch his hurt little _ohhh_. Not fast enough, anyway; Loki feels his brother stiffen, and it isn’t in the sort of way that signals _game almost the fuck over_ either.

"God, Loki," Thor groans. "I'm so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking," he stammers, and then he's out and off in one swift motion. It’s so abrupt that Loki's overused ass cramps miserably. He yelps again.

Thor pulls Loki against him, little spoon nested inside Thor’s big one, and starts _crying_.

Whatever this is about, it can’t be good. "Don't be," Loki tells his brother. He has no idea how to even begin to make sense of this, none at all. "I missed you," he adds, because he clearly needs to say something.

"I love you," Thor offers, which may just be the stupidest thing he's said all night.

Loki comes out of his fog enough to snort, not loudly. "I, on the other hand," he tells his brother, parroting back one of the shitty things the shrinks from the nuthouse had told him, "am incapable of love."

Not surprisingly, it’s the wrong thing to say. When it just makes his brother sob all the harder, Loki stretches to plant a soft little kiss on the tender inside of Thor's wrist. And then he shuts his eyes tight, body dirty and sore and poor abused feet _still_ in those shoes, and he’s _gone_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming in from the cold is anything but easy.

It's probably not good _guest behavior_ , but desperate times require desperate measures.

Even though he knows, logically, that – despite the fact Thor is _taking a few days off_ \- his brother has gone shopping (groceries; a few _clothing essentials_ for Loki, whose current wardrobe consists in its entirety of two halves of what was until recently a pair of shorts and one equally mutilated shirt) and will not pop in at random in the next couple of hours to check on his new pet, Loki works the apartment over as swiftly as his wobbly legs and shaking hands will allow. After so much time spent living _in the wild_ , the urge to avoid getting caught is so deeply ingrained it’s basically instinctive.

Well, that, and he needs _something_ soon or he won't be even marginally functional. And yes, if he's going to stay here, he undoubtedly also needs to come up with a long-term plan. One that, considering the bridges Thor just helpfully burned for him, includes detox or a methadone clinic. He'll get on that, he will, just as soon as-

-oh, sweet baby jesus, his brother has three random bottles of Vicodin stashed in the wooden chest in the bathroom, in what seems to serve as the junk drawer. Even better, two of them are recent enough that they haven’t yet expired... and they're all sufficiently (but not completely, which rocks) full that - unless Thor is counting (Loki’s willing to bet he isn’t. Yet. Living with an addict, he all too soon will be… which is a lot of what makes this so urgent) - siphoning a few off the top will go unnoticed.

_First things first_ , he reminds himself, fighting the all but all-consuming urge to choke a couple down dry. He opens each container, clumsier than he'd like to be but still managing (with difficulty) not to send everything flying, and carefully shakes out three or four pills. For now, he simply tucks them up out of sight inside the underside of the box spring; they'll need a better hiding place, but to accomplish that Loki needs to accumulate some possessions.

Once he has everything back precisely as he found it, with the exception of his new little stash, Loki stumbles down the hall to the kitchen and stands naked at the refrigerator. What? No one is home, he’s a hurting unit, and besides: No clothes. He zones out in front of the open door, transfixed by the sight of- so much food. So much _beer_

Beer. Yep, that'll work.

Twenty minutes, two beers, and two Vicodin later, he may not be feeling quite _human,_ but he's pretty sure he's at least up for a shower.

~

_Fuck_ , showering here is a little slice of heaven. Thor really does have everything. _Everything_. Or, at least, this bathroom does. Hot water, and lots of it. Water pressure. A drain that drains. No one's mystery turd in the corner of the tub. And to top it all off his brother has a truly lovely array of body washes and hair products and loofahs. By the time he's almost too drowsy to stand, Loki is gloriously clean – the cleanest he’s been since that last summer at home, probably - and smelling deliciously of chocolate from head to toe.

He doesn't bother drying his hair. He needs to sleep. Eat too, maybe, but he's not up to that now.

Before heading back to bed he does brush his teeth, though. He's polite about it, too; rather than being gross (by Thor's standards; Loki hasn't _got_ standards anymore) and using his brother's toothbrush, he uses a spare he found, still in its packaging, in the linen closet during his hunt for _useful things_.

In comparison to last night, the bed is much more pleasant this morning. Loki hugs himself happily, running his hands up and down his own clean, clean arms. For starters, he feels nice and smells better. He hasn't got ripped fishnets and stripper heels on, and he hasn't got Thor up his ass. And he's under the covers and buzzed and sleepy.

Eh, screw eating. It’s not like he does that anymore anyway.

~

"-KI! _LOKI!_ "

Wha-? _Oh, fuck. Thor._ Loki pops up to sitting in bed, more or less cross-legged with the blankets pooled messily around his hips. He blinks at his mildly terrifying reflection in the mirror over the dresser, bleary and dazed, and tries in (complete and utter) vain to tame his tangled wavy-curly mop of air-dried (bed-dried?) hair. 

Fuck it.

Eventually, when he finally realizes he needs to _say_ something; he clears his throat and squawks "in here." _Shit_. He hasn't talked since last night, even out loud to himself, and man oh man does he sound it.

The clock by the bed says 2:08 PM, which (is a lot later than he expected his brother back, and) explains why he's right on the edge of the shakes again. Loki coughs quietly, takes as deep a breath as he can, and sighs, listening unhappily to the sound of his brother thudding down the hall. Sure enough: The door swings open, bouncing hard off its capped metal stop.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing drinking?" Thor’s face is red; his expression thunder-cloud dark. Furious. He’s got one hand firmly planted on his hip; with the other he dangles _the evidence._

Awesome.

Then again, played right, this could be rather fun. "I'm kind of shitty, thanks for asking," Loki says brightly. "And how are you?"

"Loki," Thor rumbles, stabbing the air just in front of Loki's nose with a big, threatening finger. "I'm warning you..."

He sighs again, loudly. "Fine, fine. I see how it is. Sorry," he says, pointedly not caring that he probably doesn't sound the slightest bit apologetic. "I didn't see the _not for Loki_ sign on the beer." He snorts, half grinning. "I'd offer to replace it but, you know," - he shrugs - "I have to suspect I'm out of a job at the moment."

“That’s not what I meant,” Thor points out hotly, “and you fucking well know it.”

Sure, he probably does, but this might be good sport. Loki could really do with a little amusement just now. He cocks one eyebrow saucily. “I do?”

“You have a- a _substance problem_ , brother,” Thor explains loudly, and the whole thing is suddenly so ridiculous that Loki can’t help laughing.

“Be that as it may, I don’t have a _beer problem_ ,” he clarifies. Which is true; he doesn’t, really. His brother has positively no reason whatsoever to need to know anything about the rest.

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor admonishes, and Loki hasn’t heard his name said in quite that tone in years. “You drank these” – he gestures with the bottles, clanking them together – “when? Lunchtime? And you don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Okay, _mom_ ,” Loki spits back, not missing the way Thor’s mouth tightens. Low blow, then. _Whatever._ “And, no, I had them around breakfast time. I slept through lunchtime,” he goes on, waving a hand at the rumpled bedding. 

Thor says nothing. Loki shrugs, pointedly not wincing as the scar twinges. “I was thirsty. I didn’t know it was a federal offense.” He flops down on the bed, abruptly worn out physically and mentally. This isn’t as proving nearly as diverting as he’d hoped. Not without another pill or two, at least. “Give it a rest, Thor. I’m tired.”

Just like that what little remains of his patience is shot. Completely gone.

Perhaps he’s not alone there; Thor’s the one sighing this time. “What did you eat for breakfast,” his brother asks, tacking on “or lunch” when Loki fails to grace the first question with an answer.

He growls in frustration and rolls onto one side, putting his back to his brother. “I didn’t. Now leave. Me. The fuck. Alone.”

Of course, Thor doesn’t. He’s always been slow to take a hint, even when it’s staring him right in the fucking face. It may even be something he does on purpose. “When _did_ you eat,” he asks, and it sounds so much like something Frigga would have said that Loki’s stomach rolls.

“I don’t remember,” he snaps, because he doesn’t. “Jesus fuck, Thor, what part of _give it a rest_ don’t you understand?”

After a silence that lingers long enough to give Loki false hope, Thor clears his throat. “I don’t mean to upset you,” he says, voice uncharacteristically small and soft. “You’re just- you’re _so thin_. You’re nothing but skin and bones, Loki. You _need_ to eat.”

_Oh, brother, you have no idea what I need,_ Loki thinks, with his inside voice. “What I really need is to sleep,” he says aloud. In case that’s still too subtle, he also pulls the pillow over his head.

“Dinner, then,” Thor says, nicely muffled by the pillow. He doesn’t shut the door when he goes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While he was gone, the rules changed.

"I'm no longer employed by the company that ordered the test," Loki explains politely to the girl calling from the after-hours clinic, the one to which Malekith had sent the _street staff_ for _semiannual inspection_ , a day or two before Thor had- sprung Loki? Bought him? Kidnapped him? _Whatever_. "If there's a problem with payment you'll need to contact them directly. I'm sorry." And he almost is - he remembers her from that visit. She's nice.

"It's not about the bill, Mr. Laufeyson,” she tells him, sounding apologetic herself. “The doctor needs to see you, to discuss your test results."

_Oh, yay._

"I don't have access to a car," Loki tries, because- _Thor_. "Can't he just give me the results over the phone?"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir;" she offers, "but I'm afraid you really do have to come in. He's here the next three days, noon until midnight. I can arrange for transportation if you need it," she adds, covering all the bases.

Loki sighs. He can tell he isn't going to win this particular battle. "No, don't worry about it," he says, resigned, the seed of an idea already taking root. "I'm sure I can find a ride somehow."

~

"I've been thinking," he tells Thor later on, "about what you said a couple of days ago. About how I should get a checkup. And get started on methadone," he adds, for the _wow factor_. Plus he _has_ been thinking about the last part, not because he's really ready to get clean but because he'd be lucky not to get killed trying to buy anything after his rather graceless scene exit. He's stretched Thor's pain pills about as far as he can without getting caught, and he doesn't want to put his last remaining _emergency options_ in jeopardy. "I have a doctor I used to see, one who works nights. Can I go there?"

Thor _beams_. As obviously annoyed as he's been with Loki recently, he's still such an easy mark. "Of course, brother! Give him a call."

Loki smirks, dangling the keys from a freshly black-nailed finger. The convenience store on this block sells surprisingly nice polish. "It's a walk-in sort of place, you know."

~

What the doctor has to share is neither pleasing nor unexpected. Loki eyerolls and yawns through the safe sex lecture. He sprawls the length of the exam table, flipping his antibiotic pack into the air and catching it. Over and over and over. Once for every time he wishes this was over. When the guy gets to _-need the names and contact information for all of your sex partners-_ , though, Loki perks up a little. He can’t help but laugh outright.

"I'm a sex worker," he points out, still laughing. "It's not like I take PayPal. Or collect ID."

The doctor shoots him a look that's practically Thor-worthy. "Do the best you can," he demands, shoving the clipboard - with dangling pen and official state paperwork - into Loki's hand. Definitely Thor-worthy.

Loki makes up a few names, then tacks on a former coworker he didn't like, and Scott, just for shits and grins. He omits Fandral, also for shits and grins. As he sits up and passes the thing back, he adds "and the guy who gave me a ride. He won't want his name on your form."

The doctor nods curtly, scanning over the completed paperwork. "And is he still here waiting for you?” When Loki nods, the doctor orders, “Send him in." 

_Oh, boy. This should be fun. Or something._ “Okay," Loki concedes, "I will. Before I do that, can you take a quick look at my back? And also," he adds, since it’s kind of why he’s here, “I need a prescription for methadone. I'm giving up my _wicked ways_ , you see."

~

As soon as the doctor steps out to let him dress, Loki texts Thor: _come in here pls exam rm 4_

If he expected an argument, he doesn't get one; Thor is knocking on the door; far too loudly to be mistaken for anyone who works here, mere seconds after Loki hits send.

"The doctor wants to talk to you," he tells Thor cheerfully. He's undoubtedly enjoying his brother's concerned, panicky expression a little more than he ought to. So shoot him. He tugs his shirt on over his head and hops down off the table.

"Why," Thor asks, voice hard. The _caring moment_ has passed; Loki can _see_ the old familiar annoyance settling back in. "I'm not your mother," his brother says testily, "or your keeper, as you so very regularly enjoy reminding me."

Loki shrugs, working his shirt down over his torso far more slowly than necessary. "Go ask him yourself, why don’t you," he suggests, scooping up his boots. "I'll wait in the car," he offers, holding out a hand for the keys.

"You're not half as funny as you think you are," Thor hisses, his own hands firmly in his pockets.

"Suit yourself, then," Loki tells his brother as he turns to go.

~

He ignores the pointed glares as he pads barefoot through the waiting room. The sign just says _shirts and shoes required;_ it doesn't say a fucking thing about needing to be _wearing them._

~

The asphalt is old, rough and gravel-strewn, so Loki sprawls lazily on the hood of Thor's _precious car_. He's very careful not to slide or scratch, though; even _he_ knows it's only safe to push so far. He equally carefully tucks the prescription into his pocket where it won't be caught in the crossfire - he actually does need the stupid thing, like it or not - and folds his hands behind his head. _Nap time_.

~

Across the parking lot the clinic door flies open, hitting the brick with a loud clang. Loki, eyes closed and body motionless, counts silently down from 10. Here comes the explosion, in:

3.  
2.  
1.

Thor grabs his ankle in an iron grip. "Get the fuck in the car," his brother growls, low and deadly. "Now." His voice isn't loud, not out here where people can hear, but he opens the passenger door with nearly enough force to tear its handle clean off.

_Here we go,_ Loki thinks as he scurries to obey.

He's not fast enough; the closing door catches his hip sharply, forcing his breath out a pained little _meep_. Of course, Thor's not there in there with him yet to hear it. No matter; he's seen this look on his brother's face before. Based on past experience he has good reason to suspect it won't be the last unhappy noise he makes tonight.

~

No sooner is Thor in the car than he has Loki wedged up against the passenger door. "You gave me a fucking disease, you filthy slut," he barks, one big hand fisted in Loki's shirtfront. "You piece of garbage." He shifts his grip, clutching Loki hard by the shoulders. "You couldn't. Even. Fucking. Warn me," he asks loudly, the words punctuated with hard shakes.

More than once Loki's head bounces off the glass, clacking his teeth together painfully. He isn’t going to give Thor the pleasure of knowing he’s hurting, though. Not yet. "Warn you," he grits out, sneering as best he can under the circumstances. "When? When we were _talking about fucking?_ Ohhhh, riiiight," he mocks, drawing the words out for emphasis. "We _didn't_ talk about it. I guess I must have missed the part where you asked my permission somehow."

_That_ buys him an open-handed slap across the face, forceful enough to split his lip. The short flash of real pain in Thor's eyes, though, makes the whole business - all of this - worth it. "You should have told me you weren't clean," his brother yells at pretty much the top of his lungs.

Loki would flinch away, but he has no room to move at all. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time you _rape_ me," he shouts back, gratified to see another dagger hit its target.

Still, worth it or not, Thor hates losing and there’s bound to be hell to pay ahead. 

Might as well get it over with; "I'm a whore, genius,” Loki scoffs nastily. “What did you think would happen?" 

"Good point,” he quips, when Thor doesn’t respond. “You _didn't_ think. They make these cool things to help with blind stupidity," he goes on, and that earns him a shake that really whacks his head on the window. "They're called _condoms_ ,” he presses on, even though he’s seeing stars this time. “You may have heard of them. They're great for fucking filthy strangers."

They glare at each other from maybe a foot apart, chests heaving. Loki counts silently down from 10 again. There isn’t much room to maneuver here, especially for someone as big as his brother; even so, he knows it’s coming. Somewhere in the vicinity of 4, Thor lands a good solid punch that breaks Loki’s nose.

There may be some choking in there somewhere, too – Loki’s fast losing his grip and really can’t be certain.

~

“I’m so sorry,” Thor tells him afterwards, trying to wipe away some of the blood. He says it again and again and again.

Loki can’t stop laughing.

~

Miracle of miracles, he’s being left the fuck alone. Thor has finally, reluctantly returned to work, leaving Loki with the TV and the computer and a whole day of blissful privacy. He’s been strictly warned about leaving – and he’s looking (and feeling; his nose is throbbing something fierce) more than a little beat-up from last night’s _discussion_ , so staying in is probably the better choice anyway – but despite his grousing he’s sure he can find plenty of things to occupy his time.

Of course, he _should_ go fill his prescription. Except he’s supposed to _stay here_ , right? Darn.

Eh, what’s one more day anyway? When it comes to getting clean, he has a whole lifetime ahead of him. And if not, well, it won’t really matter then anyway.

~

First he rolls over in bed and sleeps a long time, because he can.

Then, when he finally wakes up for good, Loki takes advantage of having the place to himself and jacks off, slow and luxurious. He wipes up the mess with one of Thor’s t-shirts and then throws it helpfully in the laundry basket. Who says he can’t be trained?

He follows that with a Vicodin, taken early enough that he can be sure it will wear off before his brother comes home, and a good, long shower. Last but not least he does a little online shopping of a highly questionable nature, because life with Thor is dull.

Not a bad day, overall.

~

Until his brother gets home, that is.

~

Actually, in fairness, the problem really isn’t so much _Thor_. It’s that Volstagg (who’s fine) and Fandral (who, well, isn’t… but his brother seems completely oblivious, to the point Loki can’t help but wonder if Thor even _knows_ ) are here. Drinking.

A lot.

The drinking isn’t actually the problem either, especially because Thor lets – outright lets; he’s so blasé about the whole thing that it doesn’t even qualify as _condescending_ \- Loki share in the festivities. Truthfully, Loki largely ignores the festivities themselves anyway (in favor of a book and the comfort of the sofa; his nose fucking hurts and he’s never really been _party people_ anyway), but the scotch is quite nice.

So nice that, over time (and, yes, after the surreptitious addition of another couple of Vicodin, because the scotch will cover them), Loki finds himself realizing that Fandral isn’t looking quite so bad after all.

Hey, why not? Either he’ll get some, or he’ll light a fire under his blind and stubborn brother. One way or the other, win.

~

Thor, predictably, loses his shit right about the time Loki starts getting somewhere.

~

Even from the bedroom, where he’s been ordered to wait until his brother is ready to deal with him, Loki can’t help but hear the crash. It isn’t really until Thor shows up in the doorway, though - one hand red-white with blood and something that looks suspiciously like little chunks of _wall_ \- that Loki realizes he’s not thinking clearly enough himself to get a good read on where this might be going.

“If you _ever_ do that again,” Thor snarls, drunk and ugly, “I swear I will…” He trails off into an angry growl in lieu of finishing.

There’s a warning there, but Loki’s not ready to give up so early. "Does this mean we're exclusive,” he asks instead, fired up and snarky and more than a little horny. “I didn't realize."

Thor gives him the Look of Death, which is probably another warning. "You're lit," he accuses harshly.

Okay, maybe the scotch isn’t doing such a fine job after all.

Denying it feels pointless, so Loki doesn’t. "You had pain pills." he explains, sober enough to realize he’s blowing his cover but too shitfaced to care. He’s going clean tomorrow anyway, oh yes he is. "I was bored,” he complains, “and drunk. Am drunk," he corrects himself. Being tanked is no excuse for being sloppy.

"So," he asks again when Thor just sits there fuming, "we're exclusive?" Loki’s not even sure if he means the question as a joke or not. It doesn’t end up mattering, because everything goes sideways.

" _We_ are nothing,” Thor roars, and it turns out _that’s_ not what he wanted to hear at all. “There. Is. No. Fucking. We," his brother reiterates, loudly, and then stomps out of the room.

Which is just as well, because it means he’s not there to witness Loki’s drunk-ass, pitiful bawling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bouncing off the walls of the well on the way down...
> 
>  
> 
> (This is the chapter I know some of you have been dreading. It's not nearly as graphic from within Loki's head; he's pretty dazed by the whole thing, after all. His warped, self-blaming thought process is probably more disturbing than _that scene_ itself)

For a little while, Loki finds, luxuriating in the simple creature comforts he’s been denied so long – enough sleep, clean clothes, clean sheets, that wonderful fucking shower, plenty to eat, legal drugs and the money to pay for them, the knowledge that he’s only going to get knocked silly when he does something to provoke it (and the assurance that, if he dies, it’s going to be by his own hand and not courtesy of someone shanking him in the night) – suffices. In fact, it’s sufficient for just long enough to cross over into _embarrassing_ territory; apparently he’s quite a bit softer than he likes to pretend he is.

And then, just as though someone flipped a switch in his difficult, problematic little brain, it’s _not_ enough. He is totally and completely fucking bored. Bored and on a mood see-saw. And in case that isn’t enough the methadone has left him in a bit of an unexpected _situation_ ; it keeps him out of withdrawal, which is of course lovely, but it does nothing whatsoever to scratch so much as a single one of his increasingly-demanding _itches._

~

The most annoying thing about it is that Loki _knows_ his brother still wants him, harsh words aside; he can feel it in the way Thor’s eyes linger as he showers and as he dresses. He can hear it in his brother’s voice when Thor catches him flushed and sweaty with dick in hand (which, no lie, Loki makes sure happens _accidentally_ as often as he can). It’s painfully evident in the way Thor sometimes curls around him in sleep, and then beats a hasty, flustered retreat to the other side of the bed immediately upon waking.

For that matter, it’s pretty fucking clear in the simple fact that they share a bed at all, even if all they ever do there is sleep and bicker.

And of course there’s no misconstruing Thor’s jealous possessiveness… first Malekith, then Fandral, who seems to be banned from the apartment now, and finally Sigyn. That Thor feels threatened by the person (and not just any person, a woman; that little detail makes the whole picture extra-ridiculous, because Loki has never once in his life slept with a woman who wasn’t paying for his services) tasked with giving Loki his _chemical life crutches_ would be especially hilarious if the whole situation wasn’t so fucking frustrating.

Because try as Loki might – and try he does, every way he can imagine… and he of all people is seldom one to come up short in the _imagination_ department – some misguided sense of Odinson Honor stands firm between intention and action. A giant goddamned wall, as bleak and strong as any fortress. And as relentless a force Loki knows himself to be, Thor seems equally determined not to let anything breach it.

~

All of which leaves Loki with nothing. He’s bored.

Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored. Bored and lonely and horny and _bored_.

It’s a nightmare.

~

Porn only goes so far. His own hand, good as it is, only goes so far. As much as he _didn’t_ miss the constant clutching and groping and grabbing that is an _object’s_ everyday reality at first, months of tiptoeing around the apartment without so much as a friendly hand on the shoulder have left Loki starving for skin-to-skin contact. For touch. Okay, not just touch: for fucking his brother cross-eyed.

And therein lies the problem… if he can somehow manage to lure Thor into touching him in some seemingly-innocent manner, Loki isn’t going to be able to stop himself. Doesn’t want to stop himself, consequences be damned. And that will _really_ leave him with nothing.

So he waits and he agonizes and he tries like hell to pretend it’s not driving him crazy. _Crazier_. Thor’s not normally into self-denial. This can’t go on forever.

~

Meanwhile, Loki does know he is not supposed to be outside the apartment on his own. And he does see the logic behind it, even beyond the whole _Possessive Thor_ business; it would be too easy to bump into someone who knows him. Someone who will take him back to Malekith, or back to jail.

Obeying this particular rule isn’t too hard at first, when his body is intent on sleeping as much as it can. The occasional trip to the methadone clinic at lunchtime – made all the more entertaining by Thor’s inevitable reaction to Sigyn’s solicitous attention – breaks up the day well enough… and, if Loki just so happens to mention her later, can even liven up the evening in a _let’s scream at each other_ sort of way. For a little while, that does the trick.

But then it doesn’t, and the vacuum inside his head starts to eat him alive again. The monster within gets closer and closer, and Loki runs out of places to hide.

~

Just as he’s reaching something dangerously close to the tipping point – what started out as harmless little field trips to the convenience store for nail polish or the deli for a sandwich have morphed into something markedly less innocent and safe: a visit to the pawn shop (yes, _that_ pawn shop, in broad daylight no less) to cop a fake ID, a couple of random visits to the park that very nearly ended up as _sex with some equally random stranger_ \- Loki learns something extremely useful.

Something he really should have known all along, actually, now that he thinks about it.

_Thor’s raging anger breaks the wall that keeps his lust at bay._

The hypothesis first presents itself one afternoon when his brother, home from work a little early thanks to a cancelled court appearance, catches Loki playing a (really only minimally-engaging… but he doesn’t feel compelled to share that particular factoid) game of _show me yours and I’ll show you mine_ on the computer.

He’s careful not to reveal his face, or his scar. Despite appearances to the contrary Loki is no idiot, after all. Consequently Thor’s screaming rant about _being found out_ is, well, completely _unfounded_. Not to mention a shameless lie. Laughing in his brother’s face about it is actually far more entertaining than the whole boring _sex_ aspect’d had any hope of being.

As is getting smacked hard above the eye with the crushed remains of what was once the computer’s mouse, which is probably telling in some way Loki wishes it wasn’t.

The truly noteworthy part of this little hike up Danger Mountain, though? Just after they summit, when Thor has left _hitting_ behind but hasn’t yet descended all the way to _frantic apologies and crushing guilt_ , he yanks Loki out of the chair – shirtless, pants around his knees – and pulls him in for a viciously powerful kiss. The sort of kiss where Thor’s fingers leave scratches and bruises on Loki’s back, and his mouth still hurts an hour later.

It’s so fucking perfect he would kill for it. Die for it. Even considering how Thor ultimately flings him away and won’t speak to him for the rest of the evening.

And, best of all, he’s reasonably certain he knows exactly how to get more of it.

~

It’s probably wrong of him to rope Sigyn into blindly helping with the next test, but Loki has to _know_. Besides, she’s no fan of Thor’s to start with and – his own preferences aside – Loki’s had plenty of experience doing this right. It’s not like she isn’t going to enjoy it. Sure, she may be making a few misinformed assumptions in terms of his actual intentions, but what of it? Nothing comes without a price.

~

It goes just like he expected, only better. Not only does he lie in bed afterwards, basking in the afterglow, with his ass for once hurting more than his banged-up face… but he gets a free round the next evening when Thor comes home and sees his black eye and bruises. No fight, another good fucking, _and_ a heartfelt _I love you_ ; Loki’s pretty sure he’s just won the trifecta.

~

In the days that follow, Loki can’t help but think that his brother may have gotten at least portion of the message. There’s still a fair amount of heated discussion, some of it not limited to words alone, but that awful wall stays down. Thor’s sturdy hands are on Loki fairly regularly now, often without the benefit of prior sibling provocation.

The two of them are not yet to a point where Thor will do or allow anything that bears the indelible mark of premeditation – so no blow jobs, no leisurely weekend mornings in bed – but he does manage to overlook the _not so_ in most every _not so accidental_ coupling.

It’s not perfect, but it’s a good start. Loki’s even feeling a little less mentally itchy.

Most of the time, anyway.

~

It starts out like any other relaxing evening – Sif, Chinese food, some pointless action movie on the Blu-ray. Lots of chatting. Nothing noteworthy.

But then chatting leads to story-telling and story-telling leads to one-upping and before he can stop and think of the consequences Loki finds himself waving his fake ID for all the world to see. All _his_ world, anyway.

At which point, perhaps not surprisingly, everything goes straight in the shitter.

Loki didn’t take into account his brother’s reaction. That much is abundantly clear. Now that it’s out there, though, and Thor is trying to _take the fucking thing away from him… trying to lock him back in his little box of nothing_ , he finds himself abruptly way beyond annoyed.

He snatches the card back from Sif, still faster than Thor after all these years. "Ah-ah, brother," he points out, not even bothering to pretend he’s joking. "This is mine."

"Nothing is yours, brother,” Thor growls, “and don't you dare forget it. You belong to me now. I fucking own you. Now hand it over," he has the audacity to order.

"Both of you, stop it," Sif insists, but it’s too little, too late.

Thor towers over him, hand still out for the stupid fucking card, and Loki has fucking had it. He leaps to his own feet, right in his brother’s face, _furious_. "You fucking own me," he mocks, just barely in control. "I think not. Now back the hell off," he demands, shoving as hard as he can with both hands. He’s not strong enough to knock his brother down; Thor pushes right back, dumping Loki unceremoniously on his ass on the sofa.

Something inside of him snaps. Loki flings himself back up and goes at Thor – punching, slapping, clawing – with everything he has. He’s too close to put any force behind his blows and too far away to bite, but he can’t stop himself. Not this time.

Thor steps back and takes a real swing; Loki sees it coming and ducks, laughing. But then he loses his balance and starts to fall-…

-and he’s back in that car, head hitting the B pillar, barely hearing a woman screaming over the blinding roar of pain-…

-and then the road comes up at him, fast and hard.

~

It’s not the road. It’s too smooth. He tries to move but his body won’t obey; it stupidly retches from the pain. He can’t spit he can’t breathe he can’t move.

He’s utterly fucking terrified.

~

And then Sif is there.

She’s there while the paramedics try and fail to move him without his whole head hurting like fucking hell. She’s there in the ambulance. She’s there in the hospital, eyes flashing as she _takes charge_ of the idiot doctor who doesn’t seem to quite get the significance of _he’s on methadone._

She’s there what must be the next morning – fuck if he knows, and he’s way too lit to care – when Loki wakes up in recovery, drugged and groggy and with what feels like a spiky elephant sitting on his face. In his mouth.

She’s there when Thor picks him up at discharge. And Loki is so very grateful; it gives him something to look at besides his brother’s drawn face and haunted eyes.

And she’s there when they get back home, for what seems like hours, walking Thor mercilessly – over and over, with all the sympathy of a drill sergeant – through taking proper care of the mess they’ve made.

Loki adores her.

~

And then they’re alone. It’s just him and his brother. Loki, Thor, the spiky elephant, and half a fucking pharmacy.

Everything is so weird.

Thor is looking at him like- like he isn’t real. Like he could vanish at any second.

He should probably ask why – that last doctor did tell him he could talk, after all – but he can’t bring himself to do it.

He should probably _care_ why, now that he thinks about it, but he can’t bring himself to do _that_ either.


End file.
